


Crème Brûlèe Over the Campfire

by kayliemalinza



Series: Freewrites [10]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-26
Updated: 2008-07-26
Packaged: 2017-10-27 06:16:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/292536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayliemalinza/pseuds/kayliemalinza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a prompt of "crème brûlèe" and "broken leaves."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crème Brûlèe Over the Campfire

The black-crackle campfire remains and cast-iron cooking stand were not nearly as elegant as the ceramic bowl. They made the bowl look _snooty_.

"This ramekin belonged to my great-grandmother," Ianto said gravely. His face floated like a second moon against the midnight forest and his dark suit. "It's been passed down from mother to eldest daughter for generations."

"Huh," said Jack.

"That's a lovely tradition," said Gwen.

Jack shifted his weight from one foot to the other, making leaves go _crunch_ beneath him. "I can't help noticing," he said with his hands clasped deferentially behind his back, "that you're no-one's daughter. So how did you inherit it, exactly?"

Ianto's left nostril flared in disdain. "My Aunt Margot was using it for breakfast cereal," he ground out.

Jack grinned. "You _nicked_ it," he said admiringly.

"Liberated it," Ianto replied.

" _Ianto_ ," said Gwen, sounding scandalized and heavily disappointed. She probably looked disappointed too, but it was difficult to tell, since she and Jack were little more than gray smudges on the other side of the extinguished campfire. Ianto had somehow found the only moonbeam in the dense forest cover and planted himself in it like a spotlight. Well, Ianto and the ramekin. Ianto's nose and forehead did their best, but the ramekin was rather shinier. Gwen hoped Ianto didn't feel too jealous about that; there were plenty of things he was better at than the ramekin, she was sure.

Ianto adjusted the knot of his tie, which was sheening quite nicely, but not attempting to compete with either the ramekin or Ianto's forehead. "Ramekin," Ianto said placidly. "A small glazed ceramic bowl, typically fluted on the exterior, and engineered to withstand high temperatures." He pulled a propane torch from his inside jacket pocket and lit it with a _woosh_. His smirk wavered gold.

"The sugar and heavy cream in the crème brûlèe should attract our mystery creature," Jack said in his best explaining voice.

"That fits nicely with what we know of its pattern of attack," Gwen said, nodding. "Those poor pastry shops," she added mournfully. Ianto stepped forward with the glowing torch and she shivered.

Jack pulled her in front of him, wrapping his arms and coat around her. He smelled like the smoke from earlier and a little bit like vanilla custard, which Ianto had smeared across Jack's cheekbone in a fit of chef-ly pique. They watched Ianto caramelize the crème brûlèe, firelight spitting violently in the furrow of his brow. Gwen felt only a little breathless, honest.

Jack held her tighter and put his mouth right up to her ear.

"You should see him do stir-fry," he murmured.


End file.
